


You snore

by neverending_moomin



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Fluff, Home, I Don't Even Know, It's just kinda fluff that's it, M/M, No Plot, just really fluffy interaction, sleeping, snoring, they get together at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 18:52:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9620948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverending_moomin/pseuds/neverending_moomin
Summary: John and Sherlock return to Baker Street after a case, Sherlock falls asleep, unfortunately he snores. Friends to more than friends (in a fluffy way).





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TinyNinjaQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyNinjaQueen/gifts).



> So this is your real present (TinyNinjaQueen) in terms of a fic, I didn't think i could get away with giving you pure angst so I wrote some fluffy times too.
> 
> M xx

The flat was warm, cosy, with a merry little fire crackling in the hearth, and the room bathed in a lovely muted glow from the lamp. Yes, everything was perfect, right down to the post-case lethargy which struck the flat’s inhabitants down and left them fighting to stay awake on the sofa. Or it would have been, if Sherlock hadn’t dozed off so quickly, and with it kept John awake. Because, John had just found out, Sherlock snored. Or at least, he snored when he had a two day old cold, was lying face down stretched out across the sofa, and he’d fumigated John’s bedroom, leaving John nowhere to go but the  sitting room, in which, Sherlock was, of course, snoring. John groaned, burying his head in his hands, and fighting the impulse to wake the detective up just so he’d stop, and John could finally get some sleep. They’d come home three hours ago, John having spent the last 32 hours awake, Sherlock the last four days. The trouble was, John couldn’t just wake Sherlock up, after all, the bugger hadn’t slept in four days, which was longer than John, and John was constantly telling Sherlock to get some sleep so it would be slightly hypocritical of him to wake the man up. But why did he have to fall asleep in here? John would just find himself dropping off, when Sherlock would let out an almighty snore, or snuffle and kick John, and John would find himself snapped back awake alert and tense, only for the whole cycle to repeat itself in the following three minutes. With a sigh, John tipped his head back and glanced round the flat, looking for something to occupy his thoughts. His eyes landed on Sherlock’s bedroom door, and skittered away again, only to find themselves staring at the inviting wood not 5 seconds later. He couldn’t, it would be an invasion of privacy (yeah right Watson, like Sherlock heeds things like privacy, and personal space, he fumigated your bedroom for Christ sakes). Still, he glanced between the door and Sherlock’s sleeping form. Aw fuck it, he thought. Sherlock could piss and moan all he wanted, all John was going to do was sleep, he wasn’t going to nosy around, and besides, Sherlock had done worse to him, so the detective would have no grounds for complaint. Not that John could actually see him complaining all that much – Sherlock just wasn’t terribly bothered by personal space, and John had been in Sherlock’s room before, though only briefly, during the Adler case a few months ago. So there. He yawned once, mind made up, and got up douse the fire, leaving the lamp on in case Sherlock woke. Shuffling bleary eyed to the bedroom he realised he had no sleep-ware, all of it being upstairs in a cupboard he could get at thanks to someone (Sherlock). At this point John was too tired to care and simply stripped down to his boxers, grabbing the covers and pulling them around him to enclose him in their soft embrace. He actually let out a groan of contentment as he sank into the (bloody hell) comfortable mattress and felt his muscles relax finally. John had just rolled over onto his side, when the door creaked open, revealing a half asleep Sherlock, who stumbled in and kicked the door closed behind him.

“You’re in my bed.” He commented sleepily, kicking off his shoes and trousers and climbing into the other side of bed, shirt tossed over his head and onto the floor as he slipped under the covers.

“Someone fumigated my room, and you snore.” John replied, resigning himself to getting up into the cold and traipsing back out to the uncomfortable sofa.

“I do not.” Sherlock snorted. “Where are you going?” he asked, suddenly almost tense.

“You do snore! Into the front room.”

“Don’t.” John wasn’t sure if he meant the snoring or the leaving. “I don’t snore.” John rolled his eyes and shifted the covers to stand. A hand on his arm stopped him. “Don’t” it was said softly, with just a hint of vulnerability. “It’s warm in here, more comfortable for your shoulder too. The bed’s big enough for the both of us. Stay.” So John did, collapsing back into the cocoon of sheets with a sigh. His eyes fluttered closed and he drifted to sleep in minutes, which means he didn’t feel Sherlock place a gently kiss to his forehead, or tuck him in close.

“I don’t snore.” Sherlock said indignantly into the silence, and closed his eyes.

 

Sometime in the night Sherlock was hit in the face by a pillow, snapping him into consciousness.

“You were snoring.” John said sleepily, seeming not to notice, or maybe not to care, that his legs were tangled with Sherlock’s.

“How many times John, I don’t snore!” Sherlock replied, rolling over and nestling into John’s side. His breath snuffled into John’s neck and the other man pushed him away lightly.

“Tickles.”

“Hmmm. Sleepy”

“You and me both. Night Sherlock.”

“Nigh’ John.”

 

“Sherlock.”

“Don’t be dull John.”

“Okay.” John listened to the even breathing of his flatmate and sighed. He had a feeling they were more than just flatmates now. With Sherlock snuffling into him, the feeling of a warm body pressed against his. The recognition that John had feelings for Sherlock wasn’t a surprise to John, but he did have to wonder on Sherlock’s motives, whether he realised what this meant to John.

“Idiot.” Sherlock said, shifting and accidently kicking John in the shin. “John, stop thinking. We both need the sleep, and we’ll both still be here in the morning.” Then softer, pressing a soft kiss, barely a brush of his lips, against John’s neck. “Of course I know what this means.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh. Idiot.”

 


End file.
